Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Abby almost turned around three times on the walk to Max’s house. Every step closer made her chest tighter, her brain louder.

You’re too late. She doesn’t want to hear it. You said the one thing you can’t take back.

But she kept walking anyway, because for once, she wasn’t going to run from the mess she made. Not this one.

She wasn’t even sure what made her get up and go. All she knew was that she couldn’t sleep.

She hadn’t been sleeping much lately. Because every time she closes her eyes, she sees Max’s stupid, sad face, those big, watery, brown eyes. And it makes her chest ache in way she’s never felt before.

It wasn’t a dull ache she could ignore, this was bone-deep. Like standing outside in a Massachusetts winter without a jacket. It was numbly staring at a wall until the only thing you can hear is the blood rushing through your body.

Truth is, she needed Max. It didn’t matter which way you flipped it, Abby didn’t feel like herself without Max around. Max was such an integral part of her existence and she had no idea how to fix the Max shaped hole in her life because the worst part is, it was her fault . Abby fucked up. And now the thought of lying in the bed she made, made her physically sick. She can’t eat, she can’t sleep, and maybe doing this is selfish but she doesn’t care because she needs to make things right. She just needs to. She just needs Max.

Maybe Max wouldn’t even hear her out. Maybe she’s fucked up too far this time. Maybe their friendship is beyond repair. But Abby has to try, because if she doesn’t, she knows she will spend the rest of her life with that stupid ache in her chest whenever someone mentions Max’s name. Max will just become a stranger whose laugh she could recognize anywhere. They’ll become passing ships in the night.

And Abby didn’t think she could survive that kind of misery.

Nausea rises in Abby’s throat as she approaches Max’s house. She has to follow through. If not for herself, then for Max. The other girl deserves an explanation at the very least. And if things don’t ever go back to normal maybe that’s okay because at least Abby will know she tried. (Except if things don’t ever go back to normal, she knows she will never be the same person again.)

The subtle colors of a tv flash through Max’s curtains and Abby tries to keep down her dinner. Her heart palpitated and her hands shook, all things that would typically make her avoid the situation entirely. These feelings were scary and she didn’t know how to handle them without self destructing. She didn’t know how to not avoid. But she was damn sure going to try.

For the first time in her life, she’s walking straight into the scene of the crime instead of going on the run.

Abby leans down towards the gravel and picks up a few stones. The weight of the rocks heavy in her hand as she took a deep breath. There’s no turning back, no matter how uncomfortable she feels. Before she can even hesitate, she’s launching a rock at Max’s window.

The second the stone makes contact with the glass panel, Abby’s ears start ringing. The familiar grips of panic overwhelming her nervous system.

Maybe i should have texted first. What if i accidentally get Max in trouble? What if i wake up her parents and then she’ll feel even more horrible because they’ve been going through enough and the last thing they need is to be woken up in the middle of the night by some teenage girl assaulting their daughter’s bedroom window?

Abby’s heart falls in her chest the minute the curtain moves in the window, revealing a sleepy Max, clad in an oversized hoodie and some sleep shorts. She doesn’t remember seeing Max’s figure disappear from the window, she doesn’t register the sound of the front door opening. But suddenly she hears it, the sound she’d been missing for weeks. The sound of her best friend’s voice.

“Abby? What the hell are you doing here?” Max’s raspy, half asleep voice shocks Abby back into the present. “What even time is it?”

Abby tenses, trying to find her voice. She shifts her weight between her feet before speaking up. “I couldn’t sleep.” Her voice is weaker than she wants it to be, she internally cringes.

Max blinked at her from the doorway, backlit by the warm glow of the entryway light. She looked more confused than angry. But not exactly welcoming either. “So you show up to my house at three in the morning?”

Abby let out a shaky laugh, shoving her hands in her pockets in attempt to stop the trembling. “Yeah i- i guess i did.”

Max sighed, taking a step back into the house, pulling the door open further, a silent invitation for Abby to follow.

Abby stood there for half a second, heart still pounding in her ears. Then she followed.

The familiar nostalgia of the Baker home crashed over her hard and fast. It had only been a few weeks since she’d last been here, yet it felt like a lifetime. Max’s house had become a safe place, especially while her parents had been fighting. The Baker family was kind, gentle. The complete opposite of her own household at the time.

Abby ran her fingers along the wall cautiously as she walked, just as she’d done a hundred times before. As if testing if the house was real, like this moment was something that she dreamt up and she was one second away from waking up with her breath caught in her throat.

Max had already curled up on the couch by the time Abby made it into the living room. She looked small in the oversized hoodie, her knees tucked to her chest, remote still in hand. The TV was paused on a baking competition, the judges frozen mid-bite.

Abby hovered by the doorway, arms crossed like a shield. But then she moved, as if instincts had taken over and her body knew exactly what to do when she was in Max’s house.

Abby sat. Not on the couch, on the floor, legs tucked to her chest mirroring Max’s position. Her back leaned against the far end of the coffee table. She needed the space. Or maybe she thought Max did.

Abby was silent for a few moments, trying to find her grounding. She was afraid to overstep, afraid to push Maxine too far, too quickly. She had never been a delicate person, but right now she would be, for Max. “Is it okay if we talk?”

Max didn’t answer right away. Her eyes were fixed on the paused screen, but her brows furrowed slightly, like the question had caught her off guard. After a beat, she nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Abby’s shoulders dropped a little, like she’d been holding her breath since the front door opened.

“I miss you.” Abby said, voice low and steady now, like she was trying not to scare the moment away. “And i hate that i hurt you, it’s destroying me.”

Max’s eyes didn’t move from the screen, but her jaw clenched. She was trying to stay composed, trying not to let her face betray the war happening inside her.

“You did hurt me.” Max exhaled softly. “And to make matters even worse, my entire family dynamic crashed down around me. Marcus is in rehab, my parents are a mess i just… i need you. And i hate that i need you even though you hurt me.”

Abby swallowed harshly, subconsciously clenching her jaw. She had never felt so exposed and vulnerable in her life. But she was trying, that mattered. “I’m sorry i made you feel like needing me was a bad thing.”

Max didn’t answer, but she didn’t look away either. That was something.

There was something incredibly vulnerable about tough conversations in the middle of the night. As if the shadows clung to their words. But it also felt right, like this time only existed for them to have this moment.

“I know you’ve got a million things going on right now,” Abby continued, voice shaking but steady. “With Marcus, with your parents, with everything. And I should’ve been there. I wanted to be there. I just…” she let out a bitter laugh, “I don’t know how to show up for people who are falling apart.”

Max’s eyes flickered down to her hands, thumbs fidgeting against the frayed sleeves of her hoodie. She didn’t speak for a while, and Abby let the silence settle, not rushing it.

Finally, Max murmured, “You’re not the only one who doesn’t know how to show up.”

Abby looked up.

“Marcus was spiraling for months,” Max continued, voice low and tired. “And I kept pretending it wasn’t that bad. Because if it was, then I’d have to face the fact that I couldn’t fix it. That I couldn’t fix him.”

Abby’s breath hitched at Max’s words, the confession heavy on her chest. Her protective instincts rising to the surface. “Max, i know he’s your twin but that’s not all on you.”

Max scoffed, not at Abby’s words, but at the irony behind them. “My mom has told me my whole life that i have to look out for Marcus. Because things come easily for me, because i’m happy, i’m solid, i’m good. And he’s obviously not. So, it’s on me, to my mom, that’s on me.”

Abby swallowed. She wanted to argue, say that’s not fair , say you were a kid too , but she stopped herself. Because Max didn’t need another person telling her what to feel. She needed someone who would hear her.

So instead, Abby said softly, “That’s really heavy to carry on your own.”

Max blinked. Her face shifted, just a fraction, like she wasn’t expecting that.

“It’s… yeah, it’s heavy.” Max muttered quietly.

Abby slowly climbed onto the couch, curling up at the far end, keeping the distance unless Max closed it. She rested her head on the pillow but kept her eyes on Max.

“You’ve always been the one holding everyone else up,” Abby said. “Even me. But that doesn’t mean you don’t get to fall apart sometimes. That doesn’t mean people shouldn’t show up for you too.”

Max didn’t respond right away. She just stared down at her lap, and Abby could see her biting the inside of her cheek, like she was fighting tears.

“I don’t even know how,” Max said eventually. “To let people do that.”

Abby nodded gently in understanding. “You know i actually think you and i are a lot more alike than we can see.” She pauses, trying to gauge Max’s reaction before continuing. “I want to be here now. Even if it’s messy. Even if you don’t trust it yet. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

Max didn’t respond with words. She just looked at Abby, really looked at her, for what felt like the first time in weeks. Then, with a sigh, she unfolded the blanket from where it hung over the couch and shifted it so it covered both of them.

Max leaned her head against the back of the couch, eyes on the ceiling. “If you leave again,” she said quietly, “I’m gonna throw rocks at your window. Like, big ones.”

Abby let out a laugh that cracked into a sob halfway through. “Fair.”

The show played quietly in the background now, the chaos of baking challenges filling the silence. Abby had pulled her knees to her chest again, the blanket pooled around her shoulders. She wasn’t watching the screen, though.

Her eyes drifted to one of the family photos on the bookshelf, Max and Marcus in matching Halloween costumes, their parents grinning behind them. It looked warm. Easy.

“Your house is so quiet,” Abby murmured suddenly, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Max glanced over, puzzled. “Quiet like… bad?”

“No.” Abby shook her head quickly. “Good. Like… peaceful.”

Max hesitated, watching her. “Was yours not?”

Abby’s jaw tensed. She looked down at the blanket, picking at a loose thread. “Not really.”

Max didn’t push. She just let the silence settle again, softer this time.

Abby finally added, voice barely above a whisper, “They always made it seem like everything was fine. Like if I felt something different, that was on me. So I learned to… not show it.”

Max nodded slowly. “That’s probably why we both suck at this.”

Abby huffed a quiet laugh. “Yeah. Probably.” Then she added sardonically, because for a moment it almost felt too real. “The pros of having two therapist parents.”

Max leaned her head against the couch cushion again, eyes still on Abby. “You know… for someone who thinks she doesn’t show anything, you kind of just said a lot.”

Abby shrugged, a little bashful. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” Max said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Max yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “You can stay, if you want. I mean, if you need to crash. I’ve got extra pillows.”

Abby hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to. Just because wanting to felt like something new and fragile.

“Yeah,” she said finally, voice soft. “I’d like that.”

Max didn’t say anything. She just got up, grabbed a pillow from the hall closet, and tossed it onto the couch beside Abby. Then she flicked the light off and settled back down, shoulder to shoulder now.

Maybe this was just the beginning of mending their friendship, but for the first time in weeks, Abby’s chest didn’t ache.

Chapter Text

Max woke to the weight of someone pressed against her shoulder. For a split second, still caught between sleep and morning, she didn’t question it. Abby had always leaned on her like this, in cars, during late night movies, on the couch in Brodie’s basement. It used to be normal.

But then the memories caught up, the fight, the weeks of silence, the ache she’d tried to bury, and Max’s chest tightened.

Abby.

She was curled into Max’s side now, head heavy against her shoulder, breathing slow and even. The blanket had slipped halfway off, and Max could feel the warmth of Abby’s arm brushing hers.

Max froze, unsure of what to do. Part of her wanted to shift away, create space, remind herself that things weren’t the same anymore. But another part, the louder, more desperate part, wanted to stay perfectly still, to let herself have this one small piece of what she’d missed.

The sunlight filtering through the curtains caught the edge of Abby’s hair, and Max had to look away before the lump in her throat gave her away. But before she had anytime to process any thoughts, Abby letting out a drowsy sigh, subconsciously nuzzling her head further into Max.

Max could have sworn she short circuited in that moment. Her heart skipped and her mouth went dry, and for a moment, everything stopped. The ping ponging of thoughts reverberating in her skull, her racing pulse, the sound of her heartbeat in her ears.

Max didn’t move. She barely even breathed, terrified that the smallest shift might break the spell. Abby’s weight was warm and grounding against her shoulder, and for once Max’s mind couldn’t decide which fire alarm to pull. All the frantic signals fizzled out, collapsing under the sheer impossibility of this moment, Abby choosing closeness, even in sleep.

The creak of floorboards overhead cut through the quiet. Max stiffened, recognizing the rhythm instantly, her mom’s. She could tell them all apart by now. Marcus’ steps dragged, uneven and heavy, like he was trying to grind himself into the wood. Her mom’s were steady, casual but purposeful. And her dad’s had always been soft, careful, like he was afraid of disturbing anyone, even though he couldn’t hear it himself.

The realization jarred Max, and the warmth against her shoulder shifted. Abby stirred, lashes flickering before her eyes blinked open. For a second, she just looked drowsy, confused, but then she froze.

Abby straightened up, slowly and deliberately, as if to not make a big deal out of it. “Sorry,” she whispered, quick and uneven, her hands moving to fidget with the frayed ends of the blanket.

Max watched her in silence, her body rigid. She could tell Abby was trying to make it seem like nothing, but the stiffness in her shoulders, the way her eyes stayed locked on the blanket, said everything.

The spot where Abby’s head had rested still burned warm against Max’s shoulder, and the absence of it felt unbearable.

Max’s throat was tight, but she forced a crooked grin anyway. “Wow. First I’m your pillow, next thing I know you’re gonna start drooling on me.”

“Shut up.” Abby retorted immediately, her voice raspy with sleep. “I do not drool.”

Her glare didn’t hold long. She ducked her head, tugging at the frayed edge of the blanket again. The room fell quiet except for the muffled hum of the house above them, and Max suddenly wished Abby would say something else, anything, to fill the silence.

Instead, all she could do was sit there, the ghost of Abby’s weight lingering on her shoulder.

Max didn’t do silence. Silence meant she had to sit with her own thoughts. But she was scared of messing up something so fragile. She clasped her hands in her lap, squeezing them tightly together as if she could physically hold all of her emotions inside her body.

Should i say something? No, i don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Should i ask her if she slept well? No, that’s stupid. She must’ve slept well if she felt comfortable enough to cuddle up to me. No wait, but she didn’t even realize she was doing it. Oh god, did i accidentally make her uncomfortable by being there to lean on? Shit, i forgot to switch my laundry over last night. Should i ask her if she’s hungry? Her hair looks really pretty in this light—

“Did you, um—” Max’s voice cracked. She coughed, tried again. “Did you… sleep okay?”

It was the safest option, but even as the words left her mouth, she wanted to slam her head into the wall.

Abby’s lips twitched, the corner of her mouth threatening a smile. “What, are you taking surveys now?” she rasped, voice still heavy with sleep.

Max’s ears burned, but the knot in her chest loosened just a little. Abby was teasing, really teasing, not pulling away.

Abby’s face neutralized, biting the inside of her cheeks. “Yeah, i slept okay, thanks.” Her voice softened, laced with genuine gratitude.

What she didn’t say was— i haven’t been sleeping, that was the best sleep i’ve had in a long time. You’re still my safe space, even if it’s subconscious. I always want to be near you and that makes me uncomfortable.

And Max didn’t push, but she felt it, the weight of everything Abby wasn’t saying. That maybe she hadn’t been sleeping at all. That maybe this really was the first time she’d let herself rest in weeks. That maybe, somehow, Max was still the place she ran to, even if she’d never admit it out loud. Or maybe Max was overthinking, again, she was being too much.

Max nodded, twisting her hands together in her lap. She could feel the words pressing at her chest, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment, not when things felt almost easy again.

Abby stretches her arms above her head, sinking backwards into the couch. “Dude, i can like… hear your gears spinning.”

Max froze, caught between wanting to vanish and wanting to scream. “Uh… maybe they’re just… overthinking?” she offered, voice tight.

Abby tilted her head, smirking. “Overthinking? That’s new.”

Max’s jaw clenched. The words tumbled out before she could stop them. “Yeah… i know, so dramatic, right?”

Abby’s smirk faltered, replaced by a quiet tension. She looked down at her hands, then back at Max. “…Yeah. I know I hurt you. I didn’t mean it like that.”

Max swallowed hard, heart still racing. The room felt heavier now, like finally saying it out loud had opened a door.

“I know my feelings are big and messy and i’m too much. I feel too much. I show too much. I take up too much space-“

Abby interjects, cutting Max off before she can spiral too far. “You’re not too much, Maxine.” Abby sighs heavily, pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes. “That’s the thing, i think i’m the one who’s too much.”

Max blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t- i just-“ Abby stutters, trying to gain her regain her footing. “I know i act like i’m… allergic to feelings or whatever but we both know i’m not.”

“I know that. I see that. So why call me dramatic? Just because i’m honest?” Max shoots back. She doesn’t mean to be so defensive.

Abby flinched slightly, the words hitting her harder than she expected. Her arms drop from their position dejectedly. “Yes because you’re honest!” Abby’s voice raises but she immediately reels herself back in. “Because i don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to take up space, i don’t know how to be me.”

Max doesn’t answer verbally but her body is tense, as if she one second away from springing to tears or exploding all together.

“I’ve never been like that. I’ve never been made safe to do that, to be honest. To be open, to show how i’m feeling.” Abby continued. “There’s something just like fucking… inherently wrong with me. And so i shut down. It’s easier for everyone if im quiet.”

Max’s nails dug into her palms, trying her hardest, but failing, to hold back the tears. “So you just decide to make me feel that way too? Because that’s how i feel now, Abby. Like there’s something wrong with me. Like i can’t be honest, like i have to hide. Like i have to perform. Now i don’t feel safe. Is that what you wanted?”

Abby froze completely at Max’s words. Her lips parted, then pressed together, and her eyes darted away. For the first time in a while, she thinks she might genuinely let herself cry.

Because no, it’s absolutely not what she wanted to do. She never wanted Max to know what it’s like to be afraid to take up space. Abby’s been living in a personal hell of her own demons for god knows how long. She spends the time after meals with her head in the toilet bowl. She spends the night at Brodie’s parties getting so wasted she can barely remember her own name.

And now it’s hit her, she’s made Max feel the exact same way.

Her hands twitched, almost reaching out. “…I’m so sorry, Max,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I didn’t… i didn’t mean to.”

The words hung in the air, fragile and raw. Abby’s chest heaved slightly, and for a long moment, she didn’t dare meet Max’s eyes, afraid that if she looked, she’d break entirely.

Because she knew the implications of this, she knew this would become future ammo in her own self destruction. And right now, she’s never hated herself more. For a split second, she caught a glimpse of her mother in herself, and thats when the first tears slipped free, gliding down her cheek.

Max didn’t move at first, just watched, chest tight, as the tear slid down Abby’s cheek. Her own throat constricted, but she swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay steady.

Slowly, she reached out, letting her fingers brush against Abby’s arm. Just a light, grounding touch. “Hey…” she murmured, voice low, careful. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

Abby flinched at first, then leaned just slightly into the touch, the tiniest acknowledgment of relief. Max stayed like that, silent but solid, letting Abby crumble without feeling alone.

And this was a turning point for both of them. For the first time, they were being held, emotionally, vulnerably, by someone who didn’t flinch at their mess. It was raw, uncomfortable, heartbreaking, and completely imperfect.

Yet somehow, they let it happen anyway. Max stayed solid, a quiet anchor, while Abby leaned in, fragile but trusting. And in that messy, aching silence, they both realized they could survive being seen.

Abby’s shoulders sagged slightly, finally releasing some of the tension she’d been carrying. Max stayed close, careful not to overwhelm her, but just close enough that Abby could feel the steady warmth of her presence.

After a long pause, Abby let out a shaky laugh, almost humorless. “Wow. We’re… a mess.”

Max’s lips twitched. “Yeah. But… i feel a little less heavy now. …Do you?”

Abby glanced at her, still guarded but a little lighter. “I… yeah. I think I can breathe now.”

Max reached out again, this time letting her fingers brush Abby’s hair back from her face. A small gesture, intimate but safe. Abby didn’t pull away. They just sat there, letting the quiet stretch between them, messy and real, the kind of quiet that finally felt like home.

“We still have more to talk about.” Max’s tone was light, almost a whisper. Her instinct was always to solve things immediately, to spill her emotions, to grab for control, to clutch at scraps of understanding. But here, with Abby beside her, she realized maybe it was okay to just be still. Maybe she didn’t have to fill the space. She didn’t have to be big. She could simply exist. The rest would come when it needed to.

It was uncomfortable, unnatural, against everything she knew. But maybe that’s where growth lived, in the grey.

“So… what now?”

“Now i need a nap.” Abby let out a watery chuckle, tucking her knees into her chest. “I think i just wasted all of today’s supply of brain cells.”

Max let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “Wow. That’s… impressively tragic, even for you.”

Abby smirked faintly, though the edge of vulnerability still lingered. “Hey, survival comes at a cost.”

Max nudged her shoulder gently. “Guess we’re both paying for it today.”

Abby shrugged, her body language more relaxed than it had been in months. She leaned back against the couch, uncurling and kicking her legs over Max’s lap. “I’m serious, i’m exhausted. So can we pause on the feely feelings for right now?”

Max let out a laugh, a real laugh, her hands instinctively coming up to rest on Abby’s legs, just as they’d done a hundred times before. “Wow, Abigail, did you just set a boundary? Growth.”

“Yes, growth, whatever. Growth takes a lot of energy.” Abby let her eyes slip shut, taking a deep inhale.

Max smiled softly, letting her hands rest lightly on Abby’s knees. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke. The quiet stretched, gentle and unforced, the kind of silence that wasn’t empty, it was full of trust, understanding, and a comfort they’d both been starved for.

“Then you can rest.” Max spoke up quietly. “You deserve to rest, i’ll be right here.”

Abby let out a soft sigh, her hand subconsciously reaching out to tangle with Max’s where it rested on her knee. A familiar need for comfort after having big emotions. She’d never allowed it for herself, or even been offered the support. But right now, she feels safe enough to take it.

Max’s fingers curled around hers, holding gently but deliberately, a quiet promise that she wasn’t going anywhere. She didn’t speak; there was no need. The simple touch said everything.

For the first time in a long while, Abby let herself breathe, letting the weight of her own thoughts and fears rest against the warmth of someone who cared. And Max, in turn, felt the gravity of the moment settle into her chest, a mix of relief and something like wonder.

“Don’t let me sleep all day.” Abby murmured.

“I won’t.” Max promised, her voice gentle and steady.

Abby’s breathing deepened, slow and even, her fingers still tangled with Max’s.

The room was quiet, soft with the late morning light, and for the first time in what felt like forever, both of them could simply be . The mess, the hurt, the mistakes, they were still there, but so was this: trust, understanding, and the fragile, unshakable knowledge that they could hold each other through it all.

Max glanced down at Abby, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. Abby’s lips curved into one in return, tired but real. And in that shared glance, in the stillness and warmth between them, they both knew this—

This wasn’t an ending.

It was a beginning.

Even if it was messy.